mode them
with my company. All I want is a place whereon to lay my head. My wants
are few. You know me of old."

"Gladly will I share with your honour the little I have. God hath
brought you hither. I am glad you did not stay at the castle. The
company there is not fit for your honour."

"Then there is company there, eh? What sort of folks are they?"

"Folks I should not care about meeting. Drahhowecz and Muntya, and
Harastory, and Brinko, and Bandan, and Kerakoricz, and . . ."

"That will do," interrupted Mr. Gerzson, aghast at so many odd, strange
names not one of which he had ever heard of before. "New comers, I
suppose?"

"I was sure their names would be quite unfamiliar to your honour,"
remarked the priest smiling, and he led his guest into his narrow
dwelling, looking cautiously round first of all to make sure that nobody
was listening. Once inside he carefully barred the door, seated his
guest at the carved wooden table, which was covered with a pretty
covering made from foal-skin, and filled a dish with fresh maize
pottage, adding thereto a ham bone and a jug of mead. Mr. Gerzson fell
to, like a man, on the very first invitation; and each armed with a
wooden spoon, attacked the maize pottage from different points till
their assiduously tunnelling spoons met together in the centre of the
large platter.

"A capital dish, your reverence, really capital."

"Very good for poor folks like we are, I admit. I know you don't have
fare like this in Hungary."

"I suppose we don't know how to prepare it properly," said Gerzson.

And then the priest explained how hot the water must be when maize meal
or sweet-broom meal has to be mixed with it, how the whole mess must be
stirred with a spoon, how a little finely grated cheese has to be added
to it, and how it had then all to be tied up in a cloth like a
plum-pudding and have milk poured over it. And Squire Gerzson listened
to him as attentively as if he had come all the way from Arad to Hidvar
on purpose to learn the art of cooking maize pottage. And after that
they pledged each other's health in long draughts from the mead jug.

"And now," said the priest when they had well supped, "I know that your
honour spent all last night upon the road. You must be tired and instead
of boring yourself by listening to my uninteresting gossip, it would be
better, methinks, if we both went to bed."

"I shouldn't mind lying down at all, but alas! I have an appointment
here wi